


Sun Drops

by PumpkinChair



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: AND GAY, Angst?, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Holding Hands, Intimacy, M/M, Marriage Proposal, No Dialogue, Non-Sexual Intimacy, its incredibly soft, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:33:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29834685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinChair/pseuds/PumpkinChair
Summary: There's something about holding hands that feels inherently intimate. Maybe it’s the raw contact with another person, maybe it’s the slow glide of fingertips across a palm in a soft kiss against the skin, gentle and warm with emotion. Or perhaps the way the sensation trails up from the fingertips, shivering up, up the arm to the brain. The way fingers entwine and hold each other is a sturdy, silent support giving way for vulnerability in the form of light tremors and sweaty palms. The soft swipe of a thumb over knuckles is its own kind of depravity, a shivering and forbidden touch.
Relationships: Lee Minho | Lee Know/Seo Changbin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Sun Drops

**Author's Note:**

> Just 1k of minbin holding hands  
> i listened to Take Me Home by Ateez the whole time  
> enjoy!

There's something about holding hands that feels inherently intimate. Maybe it’s the raw contact with another person, maybe it’s the slow glide of fingertips across a palm in a soft kiss against the skin, gentle and warm with emotion. Or perhaps the way the sensation trails up from the fingertips, shivering up, up the arm to the brain. The way fingers entwine and hold each other is a sturdy, silent support giving way for vulnerability in the form of light tremors and sweaty palms. The soft swipe of a thumb over knuckles is its own kind of depravity, a shivering and forbidden touch.

Minho has small hands. His fingers curl in too tightly against his palms, in a permanent state of freezing without a secondary heat source. They fit together only just, like one’s hands do, because they’re meant to be held by another. Minho’s another is Changbin, who’s hands gently engulf his and curl around his cold fingers, palms a searing heat and yet the warmth seeps into Minho softly, like dipping his hand in a warm bath. Their fingers lock together naturally, seeking the gaps where they fit without prompting and melting together. 

Minho has a habit, or perhaps it’s unfair to call it a habit, but he has this _thing_ he does when sitting next to Changbin during shows or interviews or even when there’s no cameras in their faces. He holds Changbin’s hand in his lap to play with his fingers, sliding his fingers up his palm to push down on Changbin’s and bend them this way and that. He traces shapes into his palm and on the back of his hand, scratches his nails across to watch Changbin’s hand curl in on itself away from the ticklish touch. Minho even spins the rings on his fingers―on a few occasions they’ve fallen and rolled away under chairs, the soft tinkling sound of metal hitting the floor making Minho wince―focusing mostly on this thumb, the oddest place for a ring. 

Sometimes Changbin will rest his hand on Minho’s thigh and the heat will seep in through his clothes, pure sensation bubbling to the surface and grounding Minho’s scattered thoughts. His touch is always gentle and yielding when Minho moves him again to press their palms together, naturally searching for him like he’s pulled by a magnet. Minho likes it when they stand close together, pressed arm to arm while their hands intertwine, not hiding and yet not fully on display either. The same hands will cup his face in teasing, will pinch Minho’s cheeks and nose―also cold―with fleeting warmth that leaves Minho feeling frozen, iced over where he was previously numbed. Heated palms also pull him in for equally fleeting kisses, stolen in the early morning or late at night, in between schedules and in dark corners. Their lips are just like their hands, magnets weak to their attraction.

It’s easy and dangerous to be so openly affectionate, to indulge in those stolen moments, but it’s addictive just like the heat mingling between their palms. Minho wants to keep their entwined fingers tucked into his pocket all the time, safe and comfortable in the cold winter air. He dreams, sometimes, of those hands holding his down on the sheets, a manifestation of the bubbling intimacy between them like quivering breaths and shy smiles.

There’s never been another to hold Minho’s hands like this, so perfectly and fitting, like they were sculpted from the same marble. It’s even more pronounced when Changbin holds his hand now, reverently between his two. It’s not formal or even anywhere public, instead laid in bed where they can indulge in their bubble of romance until someone comes to fetch them. 

Changbin brushes his fingers over Minho’s palm, eyes soften when he rubs small circles into his knuckles with his thumbs―the forbidden touch. It’s warm, hot, electric between them and unhurried as Minho lays on his side in drowsy silence, bangs slowly sliding across his vision in broken waves. It’s early, but not too early to miss the soft pinks and purples of sunrise where they filter in from over Changbin’s bare shoulder and across the sheets, a kiss of warmth against Minho’s cheek.

“Marry me.” It’s whispered against Minho’s fingertips when Changbin presses his lips there, a smile kissing each of Minho’s fingers in reverence. The silent worship makes Minho hum, eyes spilling with the fondness swelling within his chest while he watches Changbin. They both know it’s a futile request, but perhaps one day it may not be. It’s the love that rots from within that prompts the question―not for the first time from either of them―the kind of love that feels as innocent as holding hands and as electric as a first kiss. It bubbles up to the surface on occasion and boils over to drip into every breath and whispered word, every stolen glance and kiss of palms. 

Minho smiles back at Changbin, gently moving his hand from his hold to cup his cheek and press into his warm and sun kissed skin. “I will.” It’s a promise, as close to real as they can manage in their current situation, but it feels permanent, feels like when they curl up around each other at night, warm. They’ll be together as long as their fingers still intertwine, as long as they seek each other during the frozen nights, the blizzard of the mind and the Summer days of each other’s company. 

Changbin moves Minho’s hair out of his face to watch his eyes sparkle in the low light, honeyed and softened. The glaze of sleep has since faded, but he’s fuzzy around the edges, pressing into Changbin’s touches like a kitten and snuggling in closer, dropping his hand to glide down and rest on Changbin’s chest. Minho gently presses, pushes him over onto his back to rest above his heart, listening to the slow _thump, thump_ of Changbin’s steady heartbeat. Minho’s hair flares out and shines like a halo in the light, soft to the touch and tickling Changbin’s chin on every exhale. 

It’s quiet in the mornings when it's just them, when their hands end up entwined together again on Changbin’s stomach, tickling each other before they settle once more, sleep warm and content. Though this time, the cut of metal presses into Changbin’s skin, warmed yet still sharp in contrast. Their matching rings are often lost amongst the chaos of wardrobe changes and other jewelry, and yet they never seem to disappear from either of their hands. Inconspicuous amongst the other matching rings and jewelry from the other members, and yet this is one to be left unaddressed, to be a secret and a promise for them both alone. 

The rings are kept warm between their hands, and yet now there’s a tone of exhilaration each time the metal clinks with something else, a heavy reminder. They belong together just like the curve of their palms fit together, just like their fingers fill the spaces between naturally. It’s warm, hot, electric, and tantalizing like the feeling of holding hands, not for the first time, but rather for the last, permanent and yet as fleeting as a warm press of lips. Together, like attracted magnets, always to be found hand and hand once more.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me cry about minbin follow me on [Twitter!](https://mobile.twitter.com/hajix3ma) or check out my other fics,,,,  
> comments and kudos appreciated, i read and respond to everything!!


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